cinnamon eyes

by Rachel Lynch in


Vanilla skin and cinnamon eyes, the image of her sticks like syrup in your head. When at home, she's found barefoot with unkempt hair in a fitted bodysuit. Grungy girl, from the unmade bed to the back of his grey motorcycle, they always ask me if I'm comfortable in my skin. With a gesture of the body and a blown feather, they already know the answer.

We drove off to his ranch. I played in the yellow fall leaves and we slept in front of the fire place. I put cinnamon in our coffee and it lingered on our lips, warm like the aroma of an autumn morning.

photos by: Steven Wilson

location: Brooklyn

clothing by: On the Prowl